


Make you work up a sweat

by diamondjacket



Series: Tumblr ficlets [6]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative First Meeting, Even's POV, Ficlet, Implied Sexual Content, Isak is buff and Even is thirsty, M/M, One Shot, Personal Trainer!Isak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondjacket/pseuds/diamondjacket
Summary: Even is deeply, utterly, monumentally screwed.Also, if Even could actuallygetdeeply, utterly, monumentally screwed by the dude in front of him, preferably into a mattress in the next forty-five seconds, that would be great.For Day 3 of SKAM Fic Week.





	Make you work up a sweat

**Author's Note:**

> I got an anonymous Tumblr prompt a while back for ripped, personal trainer Isak with a buzzcut. I fulfilled the first part of that--hopefully you still like it, anon, wherever you are! <3 <3 This is my unfortunate contribution to SKAM Fic Week, Day 3 (alternate first meeting). Other, more talented people have written much better gym fic (I hope they can forgive me), but I still hope you all enjoy! Title from Salt-N-Pepa's "Shoop."
> 
> Also, the final chap of _A little help_ is on the way. :)

Even is deeply, utterly, monumentally screwed. **  
**

Also, if Even could actually  _get_  deeply, utterly, monumentally screwed by the dude in front of him, preferably into a mattress in the next forty-five seconds, that would be great.

(Or they could do it in the locker room, for convenience’s sake. Sure, it smells like feet and is probably overrun with naked geriatrics, but time is of the essence and Even’s not picky.)

Because this dude just happens to be the single most attractive  _thing_ —human, animal, or mineral—that Even’s ever seen in his twenty short years on Earth. If someone asked him why, he’s not even sure he’d be able to point to anything specific. Like, sure, there’s the kind, green eyes; or the delicate, upturned nose; or the sweet rosebud mouth; or the sharp, masculine jawline; or the thick, blond curls; or the glorious fucking  _abs_  that Even can just make out with how tantalizingly the dude’s tight shirt is clinging to them.

But it’s the whole package, really, all of it together, that does him in.

Also, he really shouldn’t be thinking about the word “package” right now.

“So, are you looking to increase your endurance?” the guy asks, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips, an involuntary, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it gesture. Even’s whole body is  _on fire_. “Or…to increase muscle mass?”

_Even, you’re only here to use the goddamn treadmill. Stick to the fucking plan._

“Uh…all of it,” he blurts instead.

_You dumb motherfucker._

The guy—and the tag on his shirt reads  _Hi! I’m Isak_ , so Even supposes it's only respectful that his panicked, horned-up internal monologue use the dude’s actual name—shoots Even a small smile, and… _whoa_. What a smile it is.

“Cool,” Isak says, and he looks down for a moment, cheeks a little pink. It can't mean anything—from the looks of him, he was probably doing reps of effortless, one-handed push-ups before Even’s lanky beanpole ass wandered in here, lost and afraid. His blush is probably just from…exertion, or something.

_Isak looks like he’s very capable of, uh…_ exerting _himself_ , Even thinks, eyeing the enticing bulge of his biceps, the prominent veins that run down his forearms, the big, strong hands that look like they’d be very adept at pressing Even against the shower wall, maybe even hoisting him up off the floor altogether so he could rub their—

_ABORT, ABORT._

_Get your shit together, you fucking moron, you haven’t popped a public boner since you were fifteen._

Unfortunately, it seems that Even’s dick is feeling especially  _youthful_  today. Downright pubescent.

“I could, um…show you around, if you want?” Isak asks, raising his gaze so their eyes can meet. Even only prays there are no visible traces of drool on his face.

Truthfully, this is exactly what he wanted to avoid, coming here. His therapist had recommended routine exercise as a way of regulating his habits and schedule, a small, preemptive measure against further episodes to complement the more substantive components of his treatment. 

And, well…his increasingly forlorn looks at his undefined arms and torso in the mirror hadn’t exactly curbed his motivation, either. He knows he’s not  _completely_  out of shape, but...

Sometimes it really, really sucks having a bunch of friends with six-packs.

He just wanted to join a gym—any gym—so he could drop by and hop on a treadmill or exercise bike for an hour every now and then to keep the creeping, shitty thoughts at bay…coming and going as he pleases, not worrying about pissing off some musclebound meathead if he decides to skip a day to eat chips and mainline  _Breaking Bad_ , instead.

So…the whole  _MTV Cribs_ -style tour, “develop a workout plan” shebang? Not really on the agenda.

_Say no, say no, say no, for the love of God, stop thinking with your dick and say no, you useless neanderthal…_

“Sure,” he says instead, because he hates himself. “Let’s…do that.”

_Bravo._

But really, can be be blamed? Because Isak  _isn’t_  some musclebound meathead. Not at all. In fact, he’s an inch or two shorter than Even, and slim enough that he doesn’t come off as a vain, intimidating douchebag…but at the same time, sturdy enough that Even has very little doubt that Isak could dropkick him across the room, if he wanted to.

The thought shouldn’t be so hot, probably.

Isak’s pleased smile is enough to make whatever suffering’s in store totally worth it, Even thinks, proceeding to shamelessly follow Isak around as explains the vast array of machines/death contraptions, and what amount of weight Even should start with, and how he should alternate arm and leg days…and honestly Even only absorbs about thirty percent of it. Maybe less. 

Isak’s mouth is really distracting.

When they reach the end of Isak’s little tour and circle back to the front desk, Isak stops for a moment and considers Even thoughtfully. For his part, Even squirms and blushes  _hard_  under his stare—but whatever, he gave up playing it cool a long time ago. Like…the moment he first caught sight of Isak’s calves.

“Um, don’t take this the wrong way,” Isak says, biting his lip, just a little. Even’s never been jealous of a lip, before…looks like there’s a first time for everything. “But do you even want a personal trainer? You don’t seem…super into it, is all.”

_Oh God, busted._

But considering he’s spent most of this encounter imagining what it would be like to lick the sweat from the crevices between Isak’s abs, he supposes it could be worse.

Even gulps. “I, uh…” he says, very intelligently. “Not really?” He winces when Isak’s face falls incrementally. “I came here to run on the treadmill for a bit, mostly.”

Isak nods, and there’s a resigned quality to it that makes Even’s gut churn.

“Right,” Isak says, drumming the desk with restless fingers. “That…makes sense. Sorry, I’m supposed to try to sell you a training program, but. I…won’t keep bothering you about it. You don’t even need a trainer, obviously, I mean,  _look_  at—”

He seems to realize what he’s about to say just before it comes tumbling out, and he clamps his mouth shut, eyes wide.

Even’s stomach gives a violent flip.  _Did he just…?_

“Um,” he starts, and he can’t even believe he’s about to do this—but he takes one more look at Isak’s long lashes, his pale neck, his tapered waist, his strong thighs, and thinks,  _fuck it._  “I’m not looking to buy a training program, but, uh…I’d love to buy you coffee? Or, like…a wheatgrass smoothie…or uh, whatever beverage without refined sugar that you drink.”

It’s probably the first time in the history of the world that someone’s used wheatgrass to woo a prospective sexual partner.

So, if this all blows up in his face…at least there’s that.

_Jesus._

But amazingly, miraculously, despite the overwhelming evidence that Even’s a bumbling fool with zero game and Isak should run far, far away from him…a slow smile grows on Isak’s face—one that quickly morphs into a devious smirk and makes Even’s legs feel less like human limbs and more like jellyfish tentacles.

“How about a beer?” Isak offers, mouth quirked.

Even swallows. “Uh, yeah." Isak could have suggested they drink liquified garbage and Even still wouldn’t think twice about saying yes. "Beer…beer sounds good.” 

Isak’s smile grows, and he leans over the counter, face alluringly close to Even’s, now.

“I get off in an hour, and there’s plenty of beer at my place,” he says, eyes heavy and full of meaning, and Even has to bite his own tongue so he doesn’t release the whimper that’s trying to work its way out of his throat.

“Uh, yeah,” he chokes out. “I’ll just…wait here.” He’d wait a thousand years, probably, if it meant Isak keeps looking at him like that.

If his pathetic, clawing desperation shows on his face, Isak ignores it. Instead, he leans in close until his mouth is right against Even’s ear,  _holy God._

“There are other ways I can get your heart pumping, you know,” he murmurs, breath hot on Even’s skin, and Even can’t help it—he  _keens._

So…looks like he really is screwed, after all.

Or at least, he’s going to be.

(He’s not complaining.)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://diamondjacket.tumblr.com).


End file.
